


Roots

by SiwgrGalon



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship, Growing Up, Healing, Heartbreak, Homophobia, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, McKinley family, Siblings, Slice of Life, Suicidal Thoughts, implied conversion therapy, it's not graphic really, mcpriceley, mentions of physical abuse, or rather slices of life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: A look at Connor McKinley's life across a number of key stages and events - the highs, the lows, and the weird bits in between.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, this is not beta'd (beyond my own efforts), so please feel free to let me know if you discover any major mistakes.

When Connor McKinley is four years old, he gets his first pair of ballet slippers. 

They’re black canvas and full sole, and he wears them until the black turns gray, until the elastic is a little too stretched and there’s a little hole at his left big toe. Even when they are worn out, his mother keeps them in the little box they came in. 

His first class came about by accident. His mom had to pick his nan up from the station while Ciara had class. Connor was ever so fussy about trains, so she asked the ballet mistress whether her son could just stay at the studio.

‘Be a good boy,’ she had said, placing a kiss on Connor’s pale cheek. Aiming to please, the small child had nodded; he was a good, proper Mormon boy, after all. Proper boys were always good, but especially so when their mom asked them to. 

He was in a strange room, with about twenty girls in tights and leotards, so Connor did what felt most comfortable with: do exactly what his older sister did. 

Barely as tall as the upper barre, he rose on his toes and imitated the girls as good as he could. 

Afterwards, he begged his mom to go again, because dancing is fun, and the teacher is nice, and Connor likes having fun. 

‘Well, we didn’t want to force you to dance, because we didn’t think it would be fun,’ his mom had said. It was weird, because all of his three sisters danced, and his parents seemed to think it would be fun to them. So why not him?

But then his mom had given in, almost immediately. 

‘But if you want to, of course you can.’ 

The next day, they went to buy his shoes. The ladies at the shop cooed over him, over his red hair and how he’ll be popular with the girls. 

He wasn’t sure whether he understood what they meant, but the girls were nice and Connor liked them. So that’s what he said, prompting ‘aawwww’s and more coos. He didn’t think any of it.

The girls _were_ nice. 

Connor has to wait until the new classes start, but when they do, he is there, in front of the mirror, alongside 25 girls. They have fun, and if his dad looks a little concerned at times, Connor doesn’t notice. 

Because surely, his dad has nothing to be concerned about. His youngest child is a good Mormon boy after all. 

/////////////////////////////

When Connor McKinley is seven, he makes friends with a girl called Abby. She goes to the same school as him, albeit two years above him, and they’re in the same dance classes. 

She is taller than Connor - a lot taller - and a bit pushy at first. She also isn’t Mormon. But somehow, they still end up being friends, and when she moves to a house two streets over, they get even closer. 

His mom and dad calls her a girlfriend, and Ciara and Aine tease him about her. They even say they are in love, which Connor denies. Eimhear, who’s already 15 and everything an older sister should be, just ruffles his hair and tells him not to worry about it. 

Abby looks a little sad when he says it. A few days later, when they are playing on the swings in her garden, she kisses him. It’s just a brief touch of lips, nothing beyond innocent child’s play. 

Connor isn’t so sure whether they can be friends anymore, because good Mormon boys don’t just kiss girls. That’s what he says, and Abby looks sad again. 

They play a lot less together after that. 

But apart from that hiccup, it’s also the year two very good things happen to Connor. 

One, he gets his first pair of tap shoes. It’s exciting, because he has been saving up for for a long time. They’re black, and they make funny clicking sounds on the floor. 

Connor is absolutely, definitely not allowed to try them out in the living room. 

‘No, Connor, you can not try them at home,’ his mom had said. 

‘You might hurt yourself. And, Heavenly Father forbid, they’ll do things to the hardwood floors I don’t want to even think about.’ 

The boy wants to object. Just as he opens his mouth his baby sister, the latest and last addition to the McKinley family, begins to cry. With a last, poignant look, his mother leaves her pouting son behind.

She doesn’t see Connor sticking out his tongue as her, but the little boy still feels bad. It’s not a nice thing to do; he’ll make sure to apologize to Heavenly Father in his bedtime prayer. 

Even more excitingly, it’s the year Connor meets Steve Blade. Steve, who is the most popular kid, the cool kid, at school. The one boy everyone wants to be friends with. 

And Steve wants to be friends with Connor. 

It’s not like he’s unpopular - far from it - but between his red hair and his dance lessons, Connor is also not cool. People like him well enough, but they don’t clamber over each other to be friends with him, either. 

Luckily, nobody’s overly mean. Sure, they call him leprechaun, and ketchup and carrot top, and a whole lot of other names. But Steve tells him to just ignore them, and somehow, that works. 

Steve never uses any of these words. Steve just calls him Connor, or Con. He says Connie once, but he quickly decides the other kids at school shouldn’t hear it, so he stops. 

He also doesn’t judge Connor for his dancing, at least not to his face. 

And for a perfect summer, they are inseparable. ‘Joined at the hip,’ their moms say as they watch their boys race up and down the quiet street on their bikes. 

For the entire break, they are littered with cuts and bruises. Connor grazes both his knees, and suddenly understands why Aine and Eimhear hate spray-on second skin so much. He also suffers his first sunburn, and it’s so bad Connor spends an entire day throwing up because of the heat. 

He learns his lesson, quickly. Once he’s recovered, his sisters - and Steve - make fun of the fact that despite being badly burnt, Connor doesn’t really tan. He’s upset, until Eimhear calls his freckles skin stars and says someone in the future will probably find them very cute. 

It’s also the summer Steve breaks his arm while they climb a tree. He overbalances on a branch. It’s not a deep tumble, but enough to land his arm in a sling and cast for six weeks. 

At first, Connor thinks he’s joking but when it turns out Steve is in genuine pain, it quickly changes to fear. Then guilt, because while Steve is a strong boy and quite sporty, Connor is already turning into a classic dancer: fast and nimble on his feet, and he knows how to keep his balance. 

The accident becomes something he teases Steve about, good-naturedly. Steve teases back. 

The evening before school starts, they declare themselves best friends. For the next years, they are hardly separated, even though Connor’s dance lessons are starting to take up more and more time. 

Steve never holds it against him. He even comes along once, but decides it’s not for him. 

That doesn’t mean they can’t be super-best friends, because Heavenly Father surely had an idea behind this. At least that’s what Connor’s mom says. 

‘What does Steve do, then? Does he play sports?’ 

Connor looks up from where he is coloring in his homework and meets his father’s eyes as he peers across the paper. 

‘Baseball,’ he says, non-committally, before going back to coloring. It really isn’t that interesting a sport. 

‘Maybe you should go along. Try a boys sport.’

‘Dance is a boy sport.’ His father’s only comment is a slightly displeased sounding hum. Connor frowns and looks up again. 

‘I dance, and I’m a boy. So it’s a boys sport, right?’

‘A real boys sport,’ his father replies, ‘Something that’ll make you into a man, something that’ll keep you away from any sissies.’ 

‘Cahal.’

Connor’s head snaps around, to look at where his mom is coming from the kitchen. He has never heard her sound that sharp, or look her this strict at his father. When she notices, her face softens, and she reaches out to stroke his head. 

As Connor goes back to coloring, the grown-ups hold their gaze for a minute. Until his father harrumphs, folds up the newspaper, gets up and slowly goes into the garden, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. 

Silence falls, until the little boy dares to speak up. 

‘Mom, what is a sissy?’ 

‘Nothing you should think about. And it’s a rude word, one you shouldn’t say or even think,’ she mumbles, bending down to pull her boy close and press a kiss into his hair. A minute later she pulls out the chair next to Connor. 

‘So, what are you coloring then, hm?’ 

/////////////////////////////

Three years later, when Connor McKinley is ten years old, he one day realizes he wants to kiss Steve. 

It’s one of those rare Saturdays off for Connor. No dance classes, no singing lessons and his new drama group hasn’t started yet. Maybe this is the universe’s gift to him: an entire day with his best friend, before the madness starts up again. 

The sun is shining and they’re lying on the floor of Steve’s room doing some homework or the other when Connor looks up and sees his friend in a new light - quite literally. 

At some point over the past three years, Steve got… pretty. He’s a bit taller than Connor, and his dark hair flops over his forehead right now. It’s very different from the redhead’s own, mostly-controlled style. Not to mention the color; Steve won’t stick out in a crowd.

Or rather, he won’t stick out in the crowd for all the wrong reasons. 

He is very cute, Connor has to concede. That night, he has a funny dream; there is Steve, and him, on an island. Only them, no-one else, so when they want to go for a swim, they go without any clothes. 

That’s weird. Even dream Connor thinks it’s a little weird, but it also makes him feel tingly, so he goes with it. 

It only gets weirder, really. 

In the morning, his PJs feel clammy and sticky. It’s uncomfortable, and Connor scurries into the bathroom to hide it from… from whom? 

Everyone. 

He doesn’t really know what it means, or whether it’s normal. For a fleeting second Connor wonders whether he’s dying and okay, maybe his imagination his a little overactive. 

All he’s sure about that somehow, instinctively, he knows he needs to hide this. 

It’s seven on a Saturday so nobody is up yet. Given that it’s occupied by nine people the house is unusually quiet, save for the low creaking of wood. After he has calmed down a little, Connor dares to leave the bathroom and crawl back into bed. 

He can’t shake the thought though. He still wants to kiss Steve. 

It’s confusing, because his mom only ever talked about boys kissing girls and the other way round. She also said none of that was to happen before they were grown-ups. Or, in her only son’s case, after Connor served his mission. 

Not much later, there’s a soft knock on his door. Following his soft ‘uhm, come in?’, a head full of curly hair nearly as red as his pops around the corner - Eimhear. His oldest sister takes him in for a second, before she quietly steps into the room and closes the door behind herself. 

‘Are you okay?’ 

If Connor had to pick a favorite sister, Eimhear would come out on top. She’s the only one who has somewhat-red hair. The other five are either shades of blonde - Christine with a dinstinct, brassy strawberry tone, but she still insists on being blonde - or light brown. 

But Eimhear, Eimhear is a redhead as well. At least a little; it gets far more prominent in summer. And while she got less red hair, she has far more freckles than Connor has ever seen on his body. And definitely more on her face. Connor just has a light dusting of them around his nose and cheeks; for Eimhear, they’re everywhere. Sometimes she jokes about growing rust, but Connor thinks they make her look really beautiful. 

‘Uhm, yeah?’ 

‘Who answers questions with questions?’ 

She’s also the eldest McKinley, and preparing to go off to college. As he assembles his answer, Connor just stares at his sister, trying to commit every detail about her to his memory. 

There’s an unassuming maturity about her. She’s the only one of his older sisters who kept dancing. And she encourages her younger brother wherever she can, which has lead to him winning his first ballet competition (and a number of tap medals). 

Unlike the others, she also never teased him about girls. 

‘I… uhm… I don’t know, sorry.’ 

‘That’s alright. Come on, scoot.’ 

With that, she flops herself onto the bed and draws Connor into an embrace, tenderly running her fingers through his hair. 

‘What’s bothering you, hm?’ 

‘I don’t know. It’s weird. I’m just… confused.’ 

Connor sighs and hugs his older sister. He doesn’t want her to go, to leave him here. Of course, Connor know that won’t stop her, but… she’s the best one of his sisters. Probably the prettiest one, too. She sometimes helps with his homework, and she takes him to the dance studio when they have classes at the same time. 

In response, Eimhear cuddles him ad presses a kiss to his temple. 

‘You know that just because I’m off to college doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever, right?’ 

She actually sounds unsure and pauses her playing with his hair to look down. Simultaneously, Connor looks up, and a smile takes up his sister’s face. 

‘I’ll come home for the holidays, and maybe sometimes for a long weekend. Maybe mom and dad will let you come visit me in Utah, and we can go see the mountains, or up to Salt Lake City to visit Temple Square. Maybe even at Christmas, when there are pretty lights everywhere. And you can write me letters, Connor,’ she says. 

‘You’re so good at that. I’ll really look forward to reading them. I can’t wait to hear all about your dancing, and how well you’re doing in school. And you can tell me all about the mischief Steve gets you into, how about that? And I’ll answer you, of course, and tell you all about college.’ 

When Eimhear mentions Steve’s name, Connor feels himself burrowing a little deeper. She picks up on it, too, because after a pause, there’s another, cautious question. 

‘Are you and Steve okay? Was he mean to you?’ 

The implication is so clear. Eimhear knows her brother is a sensitive soul, and she knows Steve gets him out of his comfort zone. This time, she can’t help worrying that he went too far. 

‘Can I ask you something?’ 

‘Sure thing!’ 

‘Uhm… so… can… the Church has never said anything about this, but… can boys kiss boys?’

Stunned silence, which Connor feels he has to fill. 

‘Because I really like Steve, and I want to kiss him, and I had a weird dr…’ 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Eimhear’s finger lands on his lips. As he looks up, he finds his sister staring at him, eyes blown wide. 

She looks shocked, and Connor feels ashamed. 

‘Oh, gosh, Connor, you don’t know what you’re saying,’ she says. 

‘I do. I want to kiss…’ 

’No! Don’t say it,’ she says, before lowering her voice to an urgent whisper. 

‘Listen. You can’t tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not dad.’

‘But… why? Is it bad? Will I die??’

That gets a little giggle out of Eimhear, before she draws him even closer. 

‘No, you won’t, silly. But… Connor, nobody can know about this. Nobody. Not yet, at least. You really don’t know what you’re saying, but if dad finds out… oh, gosh, promise me you’ll keep this to yourself.’

‘But why?’ 

‘Some say Heavenly Father wants boys to be with girls, and girls with boys. You cannot kiss another boy, because some people believe it’ll make Heavenly Father very angry and upset with you. 

‘It’ll also make dad very upset, and mom, too. I don’t want to do this to you, but… I want you to get hurt even less. Can you promise me to keep this a secret, just for a few years more?’ 

‘I’ll… try?’ 

‘That’s good enough for me,’ she says. The siblings fall back into silence, but something shifted. They share a secret now, and somehow Connor has the feeling it’s a pretty big one. 

Six months later, when Eimhear is off to college in Provo already, Connor is so confused by his own thoughts and feelings towards Steve that he asks the bishop for advice. 

And that was a grave mistake if he’s ever seen one. Because the bishop promptly told Connor’s parents, it seems.

His father really isn’t happy. He doesn’t say a word for the entire drive home, silently seething as the anger rolls off him in waves. Connor, squirming in the backseat, doesn’t know why, but it seems he did something wrong. 

The door shuts behind them with more force than necessary. The noise has barely stopped when Cahal McKinley tells his son in no uncertain terms to sit down at the kitchen table. 

The women of the family are nowhere to be seen. 

‘You will not see that boy again.’ 

It’s not a question or a statement, it’s a downright order. 

‘But… he’s my best friend!’ 

‘I really couldn’t care less if he was your brother, Connor,’ his father says, fixing the boy with a strict look. 

‘You are to come home straight after school. You will not speak to Steve Blade, sit next to Steve Blade, or be in any after-school groups Steve Blade is in. I will not let my only son turn into a fag. Understood?’ 

Connor just looks at his father, confused and scared and angry.

‘But… why?’ 

‘You’re also not to ask questions about my decisions.’ 

That can’t be right. Instead of saying anything, Connor just presses his lips together, still looking straight at his father. He doesn’t know what to say, so he remains silent. Waiting. 

Taking Connor’s silence as defiance, Cahal raises his voice. 

‘Did I make myself clear, Connor?’ 

He’s not shouting, but also not far from it. In response, Connor finds himself shrinking together. His answering nod is very meek. 

‘Go, then. I can’t bear to look at you right now.’

Hot shame washes over Connor, for no immediately understandable reason. With a mumbled ‘okay’ he slides off the chair and slowly slinks up to his room. 

How will he get out of this? 

He decides to write Steve a letter, explaining everything, and to pop it in his letterbox sometime this week. 

Connor doesn’t know yet it’ll be a mistake. He doesn’t know Steve will confront him, later, and a few days later the whole school will know Connor wanted to kiss a boy. The boy who was his best friend. He’ll carry it into high school. And name-calling will, for two years, become day-to-day business. 

He doesn’t know yet that he’ll learn just how much words can hurt. 

/////////////////////////////

When Connor McKinley is 12 years old, he leaves the United States for the first time. Well, that’s not entirely true, because they have gone to Canada to see auntie Becky a few times, but it’s the first time he leaves America for a different continent. 

And he won’t come back until at least Christmas. That’s ages away, but Connor doesn’t mind. He’s going on an adventure far greater than anything in the US could ever be, at least in his imagination. 

In his giddiness, he can’t really sit still, or concentrate on anything; next to him, his mom looks on bemusedly, before she gently admonishes her son to calm down and save his energy. 

‘You’ll have to do that a lot know,’ she says, ruffling his red hair affectionately. 

‘I don’t know how I’ll be able to let you go.’ 

Mrs McKinley stays until Connor’s first day of school. As they say goodbye in the evening, the boy feels a little twinge in his heart, but still assures his mother he’ll be fine, and so will she. 

Then there is an ocean between them again. His family is in Cleveland. Eimhear is in Provo, and Aine is just preparing to follow her. 

And Connor? Connor is in London, at one of the world’s best and most prestigious ballet schools. 

He undoubtedly enjoys his time, a lot, even if some things are scary and make him uncomfortable. Like proper, thong-style dance belts. Connor feels an ashamed blush shooting into his cheeks when he has to admit he doesn’t know what his teacher is talking about. There are a few giggles from the other boys, before they are shushed. 

That afternoon, one of the older students explains everything to him. The next day, a chaperone takes Connor into town; they buy a pair of leggings, too, to make it less awkward, but still. It’s weird. It’s… something you don’t talk about, at least not in Connor’s family. They’re called _privates_ for a reason. 

The first time Connor actually wears a ‘proper’ dance belt feels strange. It sits weird, and pinches, and he feels very naked for the first hours. The second time the redhead starts to get what all the talk is about. It is different. It looks different, too. A lot more modest, despite there being so little fabric beneath his leggings. 

And according to the teacher, it also changes Connor’s dancing for the better. The boy does feel a little freer as he leaps and turns, but whether it’s real or imagined is anyone’s guess. 

Come Christmas time, he gets the chance of his lifetime: to dance on the Royal Opera House stage, as part of the Nutcracker. Never in his life has Connor been so nervous, not even for his very first ballet exam. 

After all there are hundreds of people out there who paid a lot of money, and who expect the best. Some of the older boys said there might be agents there, too, and talent scouts. 

And there are Eimhear and Mrs McKinley, sitting along everyone else and waiting for Connor’s big moment. It’s nerve-wracking; so much so the dancer feels queasy. For an agonizing ten minutes he wonders whether he’ll be sick. Luckily, the moment passes. 

As soon as he’s in the lights, with all the other students who made the cut, Connor’s mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only: dancing. And it goes well, if he says so himself. The applause is the best thing he ever felt. It races from the very back rows towards the stage, hitting the student like a train or a car. Yet it doesn’t hurt, or harm, or do any bad thing. 

His heart flutters when the sound of applause reaches his ears. They bow together, repeatedly, the whole company. With every time, the applause gets louder, more rousing, and Connor’s heart beats faster and faster and faster. Until it gallops, and a big smile is splitting his face near in half.

One last bow. A sassy little flick of his head as they exit the stage, just to force a stray lock of hair back into place.

Then peace. 

Backstage, the giddiness is palpable, and they all squeal and hug in one big circle. Next to Connor Murray, a fairly quiet older student, squeezes in. He’s taller than all of them, and his voice has broken which makes his broad Scottish drawl even thicker. His hand lands in the small of Connor’s back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

The redhead stiffens as heat sparks in his body. He wills it down. _Turn it off._

Because Murray is a boy, and they’re really good friends despite the two, three years of age difference. Last time something like this happened Steve dropped Connor like a hot potato, then made fun of him in front of everyone. The whole Steve situation is the reason Connor was bullied. 

The dancer doesn’t want anything like that to happen again, but he still smiles at his new friend. 

Not to mention how wrong it all is. Heavenly Father doesn’t want this. Connor doesn’t want this, he tells himself. He should just stop being friends with Murray, or just do less with him. 

And still, and still. 

In the end, Connor is grateful for his friend, as the year turns more and more turbulent. 

From the moment Eimhear and his mom leave, just after Christmas, there is always that little voice nagging, and the little teeth gnawing at his heart. 

For the first time in his life, Connor McKinley is very far from home, in a foreign country, without any one of his six sisters. Or his parents. 

Outside of classes and rehearsals days are quiet, if he wants them to be. The nights are even quieter, bar the odd tap solo, with only his roomate Robert for company. 

Robert’s a nice guy. They are very similar in their likes and dislikes, and Robert is religious, too. Catholic, but still, he is very devout. 

At night they pray together, just before bed. It does nothing to alleviate Connor’s hell dreams, which are coming on a more regular schedule already. They frequently wake the boy up, often in cold sweat in the middle of the night. Somtimes they’re like that very first dream, too, in which case Connor scurries to hide the evidence. 

If he notices any of it, Robert doesn’t say anything. 

Then the new year fully kicks off, and the redhead turns miserable.

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy his time in London, because he does. Yet once he is out of classes for the day there is that sensation again, the sensation that something is missing. 

But he doesn’t know how to talk about it. Expressing himself, his feelings, is surprisingly hard, so McKinley just bites his tongue and soldiers on. 

Until the homesickness sets in, some random day in January, and it feels like a hole opens up underneath his neatly turned out feet. 

Connor really feels lonely, sometimes. 

Somehow he manages to last the year. Whether it’s the fact that he knows his parents paid a lot of money to allow him this little dream, or whether it is the sheer unwillingness to admit failure, he doesn’t know. 

In parts, however, it’s down to Murray. Although his parents are only a jump away compared to Connor’s, the young man still emphasizes. 

He pushes and pulls and asks and bothers Connor, until the younger boy gives in and opens up. 

When Connor feels like he can’t look at him and talk they move to one of the studios, to stretch or practice; in these situations, conversations always flows easy. 

It could all have been so nice, if it wasn’t for their last day. If it wasn’t for the fact that, as they say their final goodbyes before Connor gives up and goes back to the States forever, Murray kisses him. 

On the lips. 

Connor does not draw away. Not immediately. He should have, though. He definitely would have, if he only knew someone saw. Someone who shouldn’t have seen. 

Cahal McKinley is anything but happy when he finds his only son kiss another boy. 

/////////////////////////////

When Connor McKinley is 14, things are very, very different. 

First of all: he’s straight now. Summer camp, and then further therapy sessions afterwards, fixed that. He knows same-sex attraction is a test from Heavenly Father, and despite his transgression back in London, he’s on the way to being a good, upstanding man of faith. Someone people trust, and who’s worthy.

Second: while he’s straight, he’s not happy. Far from it. He doesn’t feel joy much these days; he’s lost interest in ballet and tap and jazz, and singing lessons and drama. In all the things which used to make him happy. He still goes along, every day, but something is wrong. Something is off. And people are starting to notice. 

Like last week, when Connor suddenly felt his throat constricting and his chest going tight, in the middle of ballet class. Just as he was leaping across the floor in what was a spectacular grand jete. 

He had landed flat on his face, shaking and trying not to cry while his heart beat at 100 miles an hour. His hands and feet had been tingling but even after taking off the pointe shoes, it hadn’t immediately gotten better.

Afterwards his teacher had asked whether he was alright. The facade had come up so easily Connor felt guilty afterwards. Then again he wasn’t completely lying when he said he was fine. Because he was, at that point, although maybe a little shaky. 

Other people don’t need to carry his burden, whatever it was that made him freak. 

But generally, pointe shoes. His ballet mistress insisted on Connor taking class in them, given that he currently is the only boy training at his level at the studio. 

He still doesn’t know how his father allowed that one to happen, given his incessant fear Connor might turn out to be a homosexual after all. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s surrounded by smart (and beautiful, his brain hastily adds) girls for hours, and Mr McKinley has the hope he’ll find a wife. Or maybe it’s because Connor dutifully tried to eliminate every bit of unnecessary pink from his life outside the house, no matter how much he likes it.

That includes taking marker to pink satin and painting his shoes black. 

His father had been what passed as downright ecstatic when he found out. 

‘What are you doing, son?’ 

Connor had only briefly looked up from where he sat at their big kitchen table, with old newspaper spread on top, painting his pointe shoes. 

‘Painting my shoes,’ he had said, as neutrally as possible. 

‘Pink is a girls color apparently, so I’m painting them black.’ 

If the disdain he felt had shown in his voice, his father hand’t reacted to it. 

‘Oooh, a _masculine_ color for once,’ he had said in that gruff voice of his. 

‘Maybe you’re turning into a man after all, and just needed a little more time.’

Connor never really knew what was wrong with pink, especially not the soft blush of his shoes. Instead of opening up a discussion, he had hummed as non-committally as possible, fegining concentration on his work. With a soft rustle of the day’s paper, his father had gone through to the living room.

Third: right now, in this moment, Connor is in hospital. At least he thinks he is, going by what his surroundings look and sound and smell like. 

The other option would be that everything went as plannend, which would mean he’s dead and this is the afterlife. But somehow Connor doubts there would be beeping, and the twinge of a needle in his arm, or the clinical scent of disinfectant and hospitals in general. 

Honestly, if it is, he’ll feel cheated. Afterlife is supposed to be nice, not… this.

He is also crying. Before Connor knows what’s happening a nurse appears at his bedside. He looks concerned for a second, before schooling his features into the careful neutrality laced with compassion they all probably learn in nursing school. 

‘Welcome back, Connor.’ 

It’s quiet, nearly a whisper, as if he’s afraid anything more will spook the young man. As the words leave the nurse’s mouth, he carefully pulls a chair up and sits down. 

‘Normally I’d ask how you’re doing, but given the circumstance and the fact that you’re crying, I’m sure I can figure.’ 

Just a few words make the carefully constructed dam break. Connor cries harder, letting out the indescribable sadness, and the emptiness, inside him. He curls up on his side and into the thin hospital blanket, in an effort to find comfort and protection. 

Halfway through the movement something else registers: he’s not wearing his own clothes. Save for his underwear. That’s when he feels his breath get shorter, faster, when the walls start closing in. 

His recollection of the events is fuzzy, but he remembers the nurse being there for the entire time. He calms the redhead, gently and patiently. Listens when he starts spilling his heart. Most importantly, he doesn’t judge. (Unlike his parents, probably.)

And if Connor is not completely imagining things, he even tucks the young man in as he nods off.

It takes some convincing - mostly from the medical staff, because Connor is too numb and simultaenously too desperate to care much - but in the end, the McKinleys agree to let their son stay for a bit. 

Cold dread settles in Connor’s stomach like a lead weight, but he powers through. He managed London. He can manage this. 

Hospital is actually surprisingly good. It’s not the greatest thing he’s ever done, but Connor feels safe and cared for. His mom brings him bis own clothes; he can use the gym to practice his dancing, at least ballet and jazz. There are therapists and nurses and there is _quiet_. He can wear as much pink as he likes, without anyone making fun of him. (He still keeps it to a comparative minimum. There’s at least one gay guy on the ward, and Connor doesn’t want to give him any wrong ideas about his own orientation.) 

Elaine, who studies at his dance studio, pops by to bring him homework and keep him in the loop about school. Even if it’s just a few weeks, Connor doesn’t want to miss out. The ward’s teacher also helps. 

Aine and Ciara send first cards, then whole, long letters. They’re full of college stories, very obviously meant to distract their little brother from his gloomy thoughts; he appreciates every word. 

Connor even gets a surprise visit from Eimhear. She cries when she sees him sitting on his bed, probably looking as lost and small as he feels. Then she hugs him close, her hands running into his hair like the always have. That’s when Connor loses it, too. 

‘Oh, gosh, Connor. Oh, my little baby brother,’ she whispers into his hair. 

‘I am so, so sorry, sweetie. So incredibly sorry.’

Connor doesn’t know what she’s sorry for. He’s the one who should be sorry, really, for putting his family through all of this. (His therapist doesn’t believe that. Connor is starting to agree with him, but somehow, right now, he feels immensely guilty.)

‘It’s okay.’ 

Eimhear pulls back to give him a funny look. 

‘Connor. I… it’s… you tried to kill yourself,’ she says, disbelief in her voice. 

‘You’re 14, and you nearly managed to commit suicide. It’s not okay. You’re not okay, and that’s alright, you know.’ 

It’s the first time anyone from his family has acknowledged that fact. Connor just nods, mutely, before burying his head back in his sister’s neck. 

She gets the message and just holds him close, gently rocking from side to side.

‘Thank you.’ 

‘For you, always.’ 

His oldest sister stays home for an entire week. She comes to visit Connor each day; on Sunday, before she leaves again, they’re even allowed to leave the ward and go for ice cream. 

In the end, they to discuss Eimhear’s wedding plans.

They end up sitting close together by the river, discussing Eimhear’s wedding plans. 

Except discussions quickly turn to a different topic, and one Connor would rather not talk about. 

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ she starts. It’s uncommon for Eimhear to sound this unsure, insecure even.

‘Is this about you being…’ 

‘Me being what?’ 

It’s also uncommon for Connor to interrupt anyone, but he has an idea of where this might be going, so its comes out far sharper than intended. His sister just raises an unimpressed eyebrow. 

‘If you’re trying to impress me with your puberty attitude, try again - I survived my own, and our lovely sisters’,’ Eimhear shoots back before pausing.

‘Connor… is this about you being gay?’ 

‘I’m not gay. What makes you think that? What would make you say that?’ 

The words downright tumble out of his mouth while hot shame shoots into his cheeks. He sounds offended, too. 

Connor isn’t gay. He thought he was, but then he went to camp, and to counseling, and he’s definitely straight. 

His sister is not having it. 

‘What makes me think that? My 10-year-old brother telling me he wants to kiss his best friend, who happened to be a boy,’ she says. Her voice is soft, with no accusation. 

‘I was confused back then.’ 

‘Well, how about my 12-year-old brother actually being kissed by another boy? And later arguing it was “just a kiss” with our dad?’

Connor has no reply to this one. Shame turns into something else, something he can’t quite describe, but it makes him turn away from Eimhear to look out across the water. 

‘I know it’s a hard subject, Connor.’ 

A soft hand lands on his knee. 

‘And I know dad saw you and beat you pretty badly afterwards.’

‘He taught me a lesson.’ 

‘Connor, don’t…’

‘Listen, can we not do this?’ 

As he turns towards his sister, the young man practically pleads with her. The discussion makes him feel short of breath and a little nauseous. There’s no need to draw it out further. 

‘I’m straight, okay? I was confused, I had… homosexual tendencies, but those were just Heavenly Father testing me. I’m fixed now. I’m heterosexual.’ 

Eimhear gives him a strange look, but then sighs and nods. 

‘Alright, if that’s what you say. But still, dad beating you… you were 12. That’s not okay. Are you sure you’re that alright with it?’ 

‘He taught me a lesson,’ Connor repeats stubbornly. If he says it a few times more, maybe it’ll feel like more the truth and less like a way to cover up the heartache. 

‘He was right.’

His sister sighs again, before drawing Connor into another hug. 

‘You’re the bravest person I know,’ she whispers into his ear. 

‘Always remember that.’ 

It feels like she wants to add something else, something more; instead, the unsaid sentence hangs between them like a little cloud. 

Connor allows himself to drop his weary walls and actively seek out the comfort offered so freely. 

Funny, how she can fly across the country to spend an entire weekend with her brother. Yet his own father seemingly cannot make the short trip to see his son. 

Most importantly, there are other teenagers on the ward who are like Connor. It helps with feeling understood and with making sense of what is going on in his brain. 

In the end, there are two words on a slip of paper, giving a name to the feeling - or not-feeling - Connor has struggled with for the past year. Clinical Depression. 

The side effects from his new medication have worn off, mostly, and he actually feels his mood improving. 

Going home, however, is a different story. The first days are rough, with his parents watching his every move. So much so he half expects his mother to buy blunt children’s knives. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, she stands far too close for her son’s liking whenever he helps in the kitchen. And her worried glances are far less subtle than she probably thinks.

It comes as no surprise to anyone when Connor snaps.

‘Oh, for Heavenly Father’s sake, mom, can you let me do this in peace? I’m not going to try and stab myself if you take your eyes off me for just one second, honestly.’

‘Connor James McKinley, will you stop with this ridiculous, rude, unholy attitude? You have no right to speak to your mother like this.’ 

Cahal McKinley can be a very intimidating man, purely by his size alone. But Connor, emboldened by hormones, teen rage and his newly developed height, is resistant. 

‘What do you care?’ 

‘You’re my child as well.’ 

‘Well, good to see you still care, at least when I’m acting out of line,’ he shoots back. 

‘I nearly thought you had forgotten I exist, given that you came all but once, and then told your son who just tried to kill himself to stop crying, because,’ Connor actually uses airquotes, ‘“real men don’t cry and I don’t want people to think my son is a dirty fag”. Newsflash: I couldn’t stop. It’s called clinical depression.’ 

Everyone around them has gone quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor can see Maisie - the oldest of his younger sisters - slowly leave the room, ushering Sarah and Elaine in the same direction. 

‘I’m straight. I’m also depressed, because of how I fixed that. But still, sarifice be darned, I’m straight. And now I can barely go to the bathroom on my own, because I always have a shadow. Because none of you actually trusts me when I say I’m better, or… or… I don’t want to kill myself, or that the medication is working and helping.

‘I’m not going to kill myself. But if I wanted to, I wouldn’t do it with a knife, and I’d definitely time it better than last time. I’ve learnt that lesson, too.’ 

With that, Connor drops the knife into the sink. Before his gutsiness can leave him, he mouths ‘sorry’ at his mom, throws his father a look and quietly leaves the room. 

Once he’s out of sight, he runs up to his room, as quietly as humanly possible. His father calling his name reverberates; it is followed by his mother’s voice, slightly raised but softer, telling him to leave Connor alone.

The young man slams the door behind himself before faceplanting onto his bed, trying not to panic. His father is probably going to have him for this. Oh, gosh, he’ll definitely have him for this; the only question is how. 

Seconds later a shy knock on the door rouses him. 

‘What?’ 

Nothing. He looks up to meet the face of Maisie, who looks a little scared. 

‘Uhm…’

‘Come in.’ 

Connor deflates just as he says it, but starts again when a warm presence lands next to him. He hesitates, just briefly, before slinging an arm around his sister and drawing her in, like a living plush toy. 

They lie in silence, Maisie hugging him back.

Then: ‘Would you ever try to kill yourself again?’ 

‘No.’ 

It’s no a lie, per se. Connor is leaving out some of the details - like the fact that sometimes, those suicidal thoughts just creep up on him - but he’s not lying. Because as of now, he genuinely doesn’t think he’ll try again. 

‘Okay.’ 

More silence, before Maisie pulls back.

‘I’m really happy you’re better,’ she says. 

‘We all missed you so much. You’re the best big brother ever.’ 

Connor has a hard time trying not to cry, because bless her wonderful, loving heart. As much as he complained about being the only boy among seven kids, and as annoying as every single one of his sisters can be, he loves all of them. Deeply.

He draws Maisie closer and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

Just in that moment, there’s another quiet knock on the door; seconds later, Sarah and Elaine tumble in. They close the door as quietly as they knocked before downright storming onto the bed and wrestling their way into the hug. 

‘Girls, I didn’t say come in,’ Connor says, trying to sound authoritive. 

‘Basic courtesy.’ 

‘You just snapped at dad,’ Elaine says. The little know-it-all. (Connor loves her for being this bold.)

‘Basic courtesy.’ 

Touché. 

Even Sarah, who’s even quieter than post-camp Connor, pipes up. 

‘We thought you were sad again. So you need hugs.’ 

She promptly demonstrates what she means, planting a rather wet kiss on her brother’s cheek for good measure. They settle into their puppy pile, Connor trying to give all his sisters equal attention. It takes only a few minutes until they’re giggling in the throes of a tickle fight conveniently started by their brother, to distract himself from the consequences of his actions.

When there’s a third knock on the door, they all fall silent. Yet when Mrs McKinley enters, she doesn’t look angry or stern. She smiles at the picture she finds. It figures that Connor, sticking out with all his teenage lankiness, would be surrounded by his sisters right now. Some things never change. 

‘Girls, could you leave us alone?’ 

They scurry out of the room without further prompting. Elaine even returns to shut the door. 

‘I’m sorry, mom.’ 

And he really is. The redhead feels guilty and ashamed about his outburst. 

Much to his surprise, his mother smiles and sits down on the mattress. She’s so graceful, Connor thinks, and always looks so well put together; he wishes he’ll be like that, one day. 

‘I know,’ she says, reaching out to pet his hair. 

‘But so am I. You were right, even if you could’ve said it with a bit more composure and tact.’ 

That’s unexpected. Connor just looks at her, dumbfounded. 

‘You’re growing up to be a man,’ his mom explains, her caress never stopping. 

‘And yes, you have your issues, and you’re ill. But I should have had a little more faith in you and your capabilities, or at least been a little less obvious in my worry. Sometimes it’s just hard letting you go, you know?’

‘I’m still sorry.’ 

‘I know, darling, I know. You should be, too; but it’ll be fine, and the world will go on. Tomorrow is a new day, which we can all start afresh.’ 

‘I don’t know what happened. Why it happened.’ 

‘That’s the way things go, sometimes,’ Mrs McKinley continues, softly. 

‘It’s called puberty, and if your sudden growth spurt and general physical development didn’t make clear that you’re in the middle of it, today did.’ 

Her dry wit makes them both giggle, and Connor feels himself relax. 

‘Do I assume right when I think I’m grounded?’ 

‘Yep.’ 

A sigh.

‘You’re going to say I brought this onto myself, right? To repent for my sins and live with the consequences of my actions.’ 

‘You said it now, so I don’t have to,’ comes the amused reply. Connor looks up, into his mother’s soft face. 

‘How long?’ 

‘Two weeks.’ 

Secretly, Connor thinks it’s been well worth it. If only for his father’s stunned look when his son didn’t take it on the chin. 

///////////////////////////// 

When Connor McKinley is 18, he gets the opportunity of a lifetime by being chosen into a top ballet competition. He and his teacher submitted the application more for fun than for any other reason. 

Against all odds something comes off it - Connor blames it on his spectacularly beautiful arabesque, if he may say so himself - he’s faced with an entirely different problem: his parents. 

As good, upstanding Mormons, they’re against competitive sports. Convincing them will be hard. 

But he dares hope. He managed to convince them of wanting a career in the arts, so surely they should support anything that might help him. 

In the last three years, he has put so much into his future career. The redhead is fairly sure he owns more dance gear than normal clothes; he’s practically living in dance belts, black tights and white shirts. 

His days have a structure to make any CEO jealous (and he should know, given his father’s recent promotion). 

Wake up - stretch - school - dance, sing or theater in varying combinations and lengths - shower - dinner - homework - bed. Repeat. 

Monday evenings are off, for Family Home Evening. Saturday is very often an all-day-at-the-studio affair. Therapy finished half a year ago, which is now converted into a slot for extra classes. 

Sometimes Connor doesn’t know how he manages, but he does. And that’s what counts, and why his parents should definitely support him. 

They don’t yet need to know that their son intends to go for a career in musical theater rather than ballet. 

Still, as expected, it ends in an argument. His mother doesn’t seem ready to budge even an inch on letting her son compete. 

‘But… why mom? Can you not see this is important for me?’ 

‘Connor, you know exactly what our faith says about competitive sports, and I’m not breaking doctrine. You’ll have to ask your dad.’ 

Normally he likes how calm she is. It really helped when he was at his worst, because she could make Connor calm down pretty quickly. 

Today, it’s infuriating. 

‘Oh my God, that is SO unfair? Like, really? And you absolutely know it is.’ 

It’s out before Connor can check himself, and he doesn’t even regret it. Not immediately. 

‘You shall not take the Lord’s name in vain,’ his mother replies, sharply. 

‘I’m afraid I’m not wagering with you, especially not like this.’

‘It’s still unfair, mom! You know just as well as me that he’s going to say no anyways. And he’ll probably tell me how much of a disappointment it is that I don’t play baseball or something. If I did, the competition ban would probably not even come up, because he’d have a son to show off with, or whatever.’

‘That is not true, Connor, and you know it.’ 

Except they both know it’s true. Otherwise Maisie would probably not be allowed to play Lacrosse, and for their school’s first women’s team. 

‘It doesn’t change anything. You are deliberately taking the risk of ruining my future, and… urhg! 

‘Why can’t I, for once in my life, do the one thing I really want? Am I that horrible a child, mom?’ 

‘You’re being a bit trying now,’ she says, throwing her son a little smile. 

‘But normally, you’re the least fussy of them all, to be honest.’ 

It does little to placate him. Deep inside, a fairly unknown range of feelings - rage and anger and, surprisingly, despair - are bubbling away, forming Connor’s words.

‘Well, I’m getting a very different vibe here. This is my future.’ 

‘And I support you, and want to see you succeed in everything you choose. Just like your dad does.’ 

Empty words, Connor thinks. He doesn’t know why his mom sticks with it, or how she does it. 

And then the teenager speaks his mind. 

‘But he doesn’t! He probably wishes I had succeeded and died, so he doesn’t have to face the single biggest disappointment in his life on a daily basis.’ 

That’s when his mother slaps him, for the first time ever. 

‘Don’t you dare speak about your dad like that,’ she says, her voice low and angry. 

‘I can let you get away with a lot Connor, but you are not defaming your father like this. And in his, our, house as well. Your dad, more than me, made everything possible, from your first ballet class to London to you going to college.’ 

‘But it’s true. Where was he while I was in hospital? Where was my father when his son, his only son as he likes to point out so often, nearly died? Where was he at any recital, any showcase? 

‘He always went to Eimhear’s, and Aine’s, and Ciara’s ones. And the others girls’ as well. And if I asked, I was brushed off, or got an outright no. Because gosh knows, Cahal McKinley can’t be seen when it’s his son dancing, or when it’s his son who tried to take his own life, lest his image as master of the house, of the uber-happy Mormon family, suffers. 

‘He was happy to ship me off to camp to turn me straight, and then, even though it worked, wouldn’t face the consequences. So why would I be wrong in assuming he’d rather have me gay and dead than straight and ambitious about my future?’

He can feel his heart beating in his chest, as a metallic taste rises in his mouth. For a second, Connor is back in hospital, a scared 14-year-old, all alone after his father told him in no kind words to suck it up and be a man. 

He is a man. He was a man, back then. Liking pink and crying - when he was really, really not well - didn’t change that. 

‘You are being unfair, Connor.’ 

‘How? How am I the one who’s being unfair here?’

‘This is escalating over a stupid competition.’ 

‘It’s not a stupid competition, mom, it’s one of the biggest ballet events in the world. I’m asking for this one thing, just this one time. If I ask my father, we both know he’ll brush me off, because “real men don’t dance ballet, and real Mormons don’t compete”.’

Then it hits him. He’s not going to win this. There’s no way his parents will budge. The defeat hurts, and he feels tears welling up but pushes them down. Just for the moment. 

‘You know what, mom? It’s alright,’ Connor presses out. 

‘This was my last opportunity to ever take this chance. But it’s alright. I get it. I’m a man, and a Mormon, and I can’t do this. It’s fine.’ 

He turns to leave, when his mom’s voice breaks the tense silence. 

‘I’ll talk to him. Don’t get your hopes up, but I’ll try my best.’ 

A few months later, Connor flies out to Switzerland. He doesn’t know how his mom managed to convince her husband, probably doesn’t want to know, but here their son is. Excited. Anxious. Very aware that this is his last chance. 

He goes through his variations over and over again. The Swan Lake one is easily his favorite - lots of leaps and turns, opportunities to show off some fancy footwork and feel light. 

It goes well, too. When he is done and back in the wings, he lets himself drop to the floor - quietly - and spreads out like a starfish to soak up the endorphins. The atmosphere. Everything. 

It’s exhilarating, and he’s absolutely sore from the week he’s had; Connor wants nothing more than to go for an ice bath, followed by a nice hot bath and followed by the ceremonial burning of his ballet shoes. And then rub himself in menthol all over, to alleviate the aches. 

But he knows he’ll last all but three days before he’d miss ballet. Unless he could fill it all with tap, but even then… nah, he’d miss it. The serenity, the quiet, the absolute focus. 

In the end, he narrowly misses out on a scholarship. But Connor wins the Audience Award, which makes him ecstatic enough. People actually liked him. The audience liked him enough to vote for him! It’s a victory over school bullies as much as it is proof that yes, Connor is actually a good dancer. 

He leaves Lausanne with plenty of new memories, a few new friends, and a little more self-confidence. 

His father doesn’t say much about the award. His mom, on the other hand, is just as excited as Connor, from the moment they pick him up at the airport. 

‘So, will you take the invitation to compete in New York?’ Eimhear asks when they speak on the phone.

Connor sighs. 

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he replies, unable to quite hide the sadness. 

‘I’ve got to prepare for my mission now.’ 

/////////////////////////////

When Connor McKinley is 19, he meets his new best friend - the first one after the whole Steve debacle.

Christopher Thomas is a fair bit shorter than him. He’s also very blonde, has a slightly unhealthy obsession with Poptarts and knows a lot about dancing. The latter was proven when he walked in on Connor stretching, which involved sitting on the floor doing the splits, and didn’t bat an eyelid. 

‘Are you a dancer?’ 

‘Actually, yes,’ Connor had replied, suddenly a lot more excited about his companion. 

‘How did you know?’ 

‘Well, you’re tall and so slim, and kinda graceful. And, obviously, very stretchy,’ his companion had said. 

‘And my sister was a dancer. She’d literally sit like that half the time; the other half, she’d be doing jazz splits.’ 

‘Oh, cool! Why did she stop?’ 

‘She… died of cancer.’ 

‘Oh. Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, that was so insensitive of me,’ Connor had hastened to apologize, but his companion just smiled. It had been a little a little creepy, but Connor quickly learnt to read it as wistful and actually kind of happy. Reminiscent. 

‘It’s okay, you couldn’t know,’ Poptarts had said. 

‘Also, it’s quite nice to be around someone who likes dancing. I might make good, new memories, you know?’ 

Once the awkwardness had passed, they bonded. Closely. 

Standing next to each other they may look like from a comic book, even more so in their missionary uniforms, but they’re best friends and that’s what counts. 

Especially in Uganda. The pressure of being District Leader is there, but Connor is surprised by how little it gets to him. He’s really mastered turning it off. As it turns out, it also works when applied to other situations than just homosexual temptations - of which he hasn’t had any in the last six years. Of course. He’s straight. 

But then Elders Price and Cunningham happen, and everything is turned upside down. Everything. Their District, their faith, their friendships, Connor’s sexuality. 

The Hell Dreams - constant companions for the past years, ever since he turned straight - get worse. Sometimes he even has two a night. 

And Connor has to admit to himself that he has the biggest crush ever on Elder Price. It probably not even a crush, but more. He can imagine - and dreams of - them doing all sorts of filthy, unholy things. Not just that. He wishes, no, longs for everything to be true. 

Despite doing his best to cover it up, the others notice. Poptarts likes to tease him about it, on good days, when they prepare in the morning. Or in the evening, when Connor improvises a barre routine in their bedroom (there’s a reason why he assigned them the biggest one) and stretches, and Poptarts just watches. Sometimes, he reads out the Book of Mormon, and they discuss passages. 

Most of the time, they talk about other things. Including Elder Price, after they split from the Church. It’s fine, and a safe way to privately explore his feelings without giving too much away. 

Everything goes, quite literally, to hell when Elder Cunningham - Connor will not call him Prophet, that’d be blasphemous! - rewrites Mormonism. 

Connor doesn’t know how he manages to stops the Church from fully shutting down their district, or at least not shutting it immediately. 

They’re set an ultimatum: shortened missions until their district closes after a year of humanitarian work, or a transfer somewhere else. Elder Zelder and Elder Michaels choose the transfer. Everyone else rallies around Elder Price to stay, and Connor wonders whether he should hang up the District Leader role. 

Until he remembers that Elder Price can absolutely not be trusted in a crisis. So the redhead soldiers on. 

With everything being topsy-turvy and somewhat upsetting, Connor lets his guard drop. Which he regrets instantly when six months in, after a village celebration where some people chose to get a little tipys despite still, technically, being Latter-Day Saints, he has his second kiss. 

Behind their hut. With Elder Price. And once more it was not Connor who initiated the kiss; but he also doesn’t object. If anything, he likes it. A lot. 

As far as first kisses go, they always looked more spectacular on TV than they actually turn out to be, Connor thinks. It’s a little too wet, and a little too eager, and there are too many limbs and noses. And when Elder Price tries to sneak his tongue past Connor’s lips, it’s just too much in general. 

Reflexively, Connor bites down. And then profusely apologizes, when Elder Price downright howls. 

‘What did you do that for??’ 

Elder Price sounds funny. Upset, yes, but his voice is also a little thicker. If Connor didn’t know the reason why, he’d find it hilarious. Now it just makes him feel guilty. 

‘I… didn’t like what you were doing. It was too much. I’m sorry.’ 

‘Jeez, Elder McKinley, you… could’ve done something else.’ 

‘Connor.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘Don’t call me Elder McKinley. Please. Call me by my name.’ 

Elder Price… Kevin, Connor remembers from the files, Kevin gives him a funny look. 

‘Are you freaking out? Because I kissed you?’ 

‘Yeah. I’m straight. I can’t be… gay. I’m freaking out, yeah. Also, I bit you, and that’s so rude.’ 

Yep, freaking out. He really is. He feels the anxiety creeping in, feels his hands and toes and head tingle, so he just drops into the red dust and makes an effort to breathe clamly. To relax. 

Kevin gets the hint, but then comes too close. Connor scoots back. 

‘Don’t… leave me some space. Please.’ 

He fans himself, hastily, to calm his racing heart and cool his clammy skin. It works, slowly. Inside, Connor is still freaking out, but it settles. 

When he feels halfway to stable again, he looks at the other missionary. 

‘Sorry you had to see that, Elder.’ 

‘Kevin.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘My name is Kevin. Only fair to know that, I guess.’ 

‘Oh… oh, I’ve known that. It’s in your file.’ 

Smooth move, Connor. A blush shoots into his cheeks, before it blossoms all over his neck. 

Kevin just chuckles. 

‘You’re so funny when you relax. Throw your usual charm in and I don’t know how anyone couldn’t like you.’ 

‘Oh, there are plenty of people back home who don’t like me,’ Connor says. 

‘Try being an Irish-American Mormon, from a big, Mormon family, in the Midwest. Complete with red hair, a love for pink and musical theater, ballet lessons and, well. Everything else. It does wonders for your unpopularity, let me tell you.’ 

‘Well, they’re stupid,’ Kevin says, scooting a little closer. Their fingers touch, and then their eyes meet, and Connor can feel his heart starting to race again.

It picks up more pace when he feels Kevin very obviously checking him out. 

‘Can I kiss you again? I promise to take it slow. No tongue.’

Trust Elder… no, Kevin Price to recover quickly enough to sound smug again. 

Someone’s breath hitches. It takes Connor a second to realize it’s him, but then he nods. Eagerly. Kevin wastes no time. 

Their second kiss is much nicer. Dry, and slow, and there’s no tongue, and Connor doesn’t freak out. In the spur of the moment he even leans in, seeking out more, much more. 

He tries to figure out what to do with his hands, when Kevin takes one of them. Connor is worried about his sweaty palm for all but one second, before he loses himself again. 

If Elder Cunningham and Sister Hatimbi can be a couple who have definitely dabbled in the bedroom department and not be struck by lightning, Connor McKinley can kiss Elder Kevin Price. He knows he’ll feel guilty in the morning, but right now, it’s worth it. 

And that’s how they end up in a relationship, of sorts. After a few days of awkward silence and an even more awkward talk, but hey. They’re boyfriends, now. 

Given Uganda’s strict anti-homosexuality laws, and their own faith’s deeply ingrained homophobia, they have to be sneaky and keep it secret but somehow, they manage just fine. Kevin will steal kisses when they’re alone, or when everyone else is busy. Sometimes he goes all cliché and draws Connor into the linen cupboard. 

They’ll throw coy looks across the table, and sometimes - in their braver moments - they’ll even let their feet touch underneath. During movie night, they even attempt to cuddle, and make it look like brotherly affection. 

Until Poptarts pipes up. 

‘Okay, guys, do you have anything you’d like to tell us?’

Kevin plays innocent very, very well. He looks around, wide eyed and as if he didn’t know what he’s talking about. Connor, on the other hand, blushes once more.

‘Uhm… uhm, what would we have to tell, Elder?’

‘Well. What’s going on with you and Elder Price? How are you suddenly such good friends?’

Connor’s mind starts racing, panicky, from A to B to C to A. Their cover is blown. They know. 

Of course Poptarts knows, the still-functioning part of his brain provides sarcastically. You told him, you idiot. 

And their brothers will call the police on Kevin and Connor, and then they’ll be thrown into prison and be tortured and raped and die. Connor will die, in a Ugandan prison, because he couldn’t turn it off, because he’s a… a dirty fag, like his dad feared, and he’ll pay the price for it. And he dragged innocent Elder Price with him, oh gosh.

Then there’s a touch. Just a brush of fingers. And he feels how tense Kevin is, how afraid he must be, and everything zones in on something different.

Connor turns his head to the side, to look at his partner, his lover; for a long second they hold each other’s gaze, before Kevin nods, encouragingly. 

The District Leader takes a deep breath and gets up. Having all eyes on him has never been this scary. 

‘There’s something I need to say.’ 

Now they look expectant, too. Great. 

‘I’m… Elder Price… this…’ 

Poptarts carefully steps over, to stop in front of his companion. His eyes are open and honest and, Connor is ashamed to notice, worried. Oh, why does his best friend have to look worried?

‘You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,’ he says, quietly. 

‘Please don’t do it if it makes you feel bad, Connor.’ 

The redhead has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. Bless Poptarts, for being the best friend anyone could ever ask for. 

‘It’s… I’m… I have to,’ he says, before taking one last deep breath. When he speaks next, he tried to sound sure of himself. 

‘I’m gay.’ 

Stunned silence. Then movement, as Kevin rises and steps next to him. 

‘And so am I, kinda. I might be bi, I don’t know. Possibly. But, you know.’ 

He makes a funny movement with his hands, indicating something between him and Connor, and suddenly everything clicks into place with everyone else. It’s funny. Connor can see the moment the penny drops on their faces. 

Poptarts is the first one to react. 

‘Oh. I thought it was something deadly serious or life-threatening or something.’ 

Then he hugs his companion, and Connor can’t hold it in anymore. He doesn’t care whether the others think he’s weak or stupid for crying, but he can’t - doesn’t want to - stop. Years of suppressed feelings just pour out. Poptarts hugs him closer. Then Kevin hugs him, too. 

And somehow, they all end up in a big group hug around their crying mess of a district leader. Some of the boys murmur words of affirmation. Elder Church pats his shoulder, before drawing away. 

‘This doesn’t change anything, Elder McKinley,’ he says, loud enough to cover everyone’s excited chatter. 

‘I mean, yeah, it’s weird, and I’m a little… uncomfortable, but, you know. You’re not like the homosexuals my dad talked about.’

He pauses, awkwardly, and runs his hand along his collar as if it’s too tight. 

‘So, yeah. What I’m saying is… I’ll try and be normal around you. But, you know, it might take a few days, if that’s okay?’ 

Dumbfounded, Connor just nods. Next to him, Kevin takes his hand and squeezes, offering silent support. 

And then Arnold bursts in, in that bold, boisterous, loud way of his. One day, he’ll actually take their front door off the hinges. Nabulungi is hot on his heels, giggling and squealing; the way they stop when they see the huddle of Elders, and a very tear-streaked Connor, is hilarious. 

‘What… did we miss something? Are you guys okay?’ 

Arnold sounds suspicious rather than worried, as if he thinks the Elders might be hiding something. 

It’s Nabalungi whose gaze wanders to Connor’s and Kevin’s linked hands. Her eyes widen, she smiles - and then bumps Arnold with her elbow. 

‘You owe me, Elder Cunningham,’ she says. 

‘What? Why? What do I owe you?’ 

Instead of answering, she just poins him in his companion’s direction. It takes a second, but then it obviously dawns on Arnold. His face turns funny; with his mouth in a big ‘O’, he looks like a curly-haired goldfish. 

Seconds later, Connor finds his arms full with another Elder, who squeezes him tight. 

‘Ohmigosh finally, Elder McKinley,’ he says, squeezing even more. 

‘I thought you’d never notice.’

‘What do you mean, I’d never notice?’ 

Connor bristles at the implication, somehow. He swore himself he’d try to not be ashamed of being gay, but right now he can’t help it. 

‘What are you saying?’ 

Arnold draws back, just to hug Kevin. When he speaks next, his voice is muffled from his face being buried in Kevin’s shirt. 

‘Nothing, nothing,’ he says, and he sounds downright giddy.

‘Just, you know, it was SO OBVIOUS. I mean… the dancing, the pink vests, the glitter… the doe eyes, that almost kiss… more doe eyes.

‘Only a blind person would have missed that you’re in love with my best friend. Or that you’re obviously not really straight.’ 

Just like that, the District Leader is mortified. Looking around, he sees Elder Church blush, before throwing a look towards Poptarts - who looks very smug indeed. The rest of his little bunch of missionaries either looks the other way or genuinely confused. 

Somehow, Connor doubts they all knew. But even the sliver of hope that they did, and just decided to accept him and not make a fuss about it, feels good. 

Then Nabulungi hugs him. She’s warm, as usual, and smells like the red earth, sun, and something sweet, covered in a fine layer of dust. Connor loves her hugs, because she always makes him feel welcome and appreciated.

She doesn’t need to say anything, just squeezes him. The redhead confided in her often enough, when he felt like he couldn’t talk to Poptarts; Naba was always there. And Connor made sure to return the favor. 

Now all that’s left to do is come out to his parents. Connor isn’t sure whether the fact that he’s got six months to prepare fo that particular conversation is good or only making matters worse. 

Just over nine months later, when Connor is 20, he has a much harder decision to make. 

The only comfort is that, if everything goes wrong, he’ll fly out to New York tomorrow. To a little shoebox apartment, and their first year at college and to Kevin. Kevin, whom Connor is just a little jealous of. 

Kevin, who came out to his family pretty much right after he came home. And of course they took it well, because it’s the Price family, and everything about Kevin Price is perfect. It’s a little unfair.

Then again, maybe McKinley’s parents will react completely differently from what the former missionary is expecting right now. 

He runs his hand along the doorframe to calm himself and then steps into the oh-so-familiar kitchen. So much about the McKinley family took place here; it’s like the walls hold memories, stories, of nine very so very similar, yet still different, lives. 

‘Mom? Dad? Can I… talk to you? It’s important.’ 

Connor hates sounding this wobbly and insecure, but his heart is literally beating in his throat. His palms are sweaty, and he feels a little lightheaded. 

His mom gives him a curious look. 

‘Are you okay, honey?’ 

The redhead just nods, hastily. He holds her gaze for a second, before taking her in. Her reddish-blonde hair is tied into an elegant knot at the back of her neck; the color change is proof of her ageing. She used to be as red as me, Connor thinks with a little smile. 

She’s also wearing a sensible cream skirt, with a small flower pattern, and a light green shirt. Very Mormon, but neither bland nor boring. There’s a wedding ring on her hand and the locket her children got her for her 50th birthday around her neck. 

Connor knows he’d find a family picture inside, if he were to look, and a picture of his grandmother. 

She just raises her eyebrows under her son’s watchful gaze.

‘Are you sure you’re alright, or would you like a drink?’ 

’No! No, sorry, it’s just… this isn’t easy,’ he says, looking at his father. 

As their eyes meet, Mr McKinley’s eyebrows knit together. 

‘What is it then, son? You’re worrying your mother.’ 

This is it. His one chance. In ten minutes, roundabout, Maisie and the other girls will come back, and Connor would rather get it over with beforehand. 

Connor another last deep breath, sending one last look and silent plea to the heavens - or rather, the ceiling. He squares his shoulders and looks straight ahead. 

‘During my mission, I learnt a lot about myself. That I can be responsible. That people trust me, and believe in me. But I also lost my faith, for a number of reasons.’ 

He’s rehearsed this speech, just like he rehearsed countless of scripts for drama group. Yet it doesn’t get any easier.

The fact that his parents look a little shocked doesn’t help. Connor knows this next bit will only shock them more. And it has the potential to get them angry, too. 

‘And I learnt that some things cannot be changed. Like who we are. Or what we are.

‘So, I have to tell you… I’m gay.’ 

‘No!’ 

Connor flinches as his father downright jumps from his chair and automatically takes a step back. He feels himself shaking, just a little, so he makes a conscious effort to stand that little bit straighter, push his shoulder that tiny bit further back. 

He’s got a few inches on McKinley senior, and he plans on using them. Even if he’s probably the complete opposite of intimidating. (Who would find a camp, red haired, slim guy with freckles on his nose intimidating? Exactly.)

When he looks past his father, the redhead catches his mom’s eyes. They are wide, and her hands are covering her mouth, as if she’s unsure how to react. 

Another deep breath. 

‘Yes. I’m gay. And I have a boyfriend. Have had a boyfriend for nearly a year, actually.’

His father’s next move is not unexpected - he takes two steps towards his child and raises his hand, but Connor stands defiant. 

‘Come on, do it,’ he says, taunting. It’s stupid, he knows, but he can’t help it. If this goes wrong, at least he’ll have a witness. 

‘Hit me. Or beat me again. But don’t think I’ll just take it.’ 

‘What are you going to do, fight back? You’ve got no chance, boy.’

‘No, I don’t. But I’ll sue you.’ It’s a bold statement, even for Connor’s fairly dramatic standards. Fitting, though, because this whole situation is like from a film. Connor feels foreign in his own body, like a speactator rather than an actor. 

‘Is that so?’ 

‘Yep. This time, I’m not just going to cower down,’ Connor says, trying to not shy back from his visibly angry father. 

‘I’m gay. Just… get used to it.’ 

‘You’re going back to therapy, tomorrow. And you’re definitely not going back to New York, son,’ Mr McKinley says. Connor isn’t sure whether his father is attempting to distract him, but either way - the comment still scares him, for a second. 

Before he has an idea. And it’s so out there, so slightly insane and definitely overdramatic, he decides to run with it. If it goes wrong there’s still time to change his plans. 

‘Yes, I am,’ the redhead says. 

‘I definitely am going back to New York, because gosh knows I worked for that. For my entire life, I worked to go to drama school. I danced, and I bled and sweated and cried and worked so _hard_ that I’m not throwing out this chance, this one chance I have.’ 

Connor has never been more relieved to know his first year of college is paid for. 

Until his father pushes him against the wall and comes far too close for the redhead’s liking. 

’Is that so? You’re still under my rule.’ 

He can feel his father’s breath on his face, but nothing more. They’ve reached an impasse, it seems. 

’The only way you can stop me is by killing me. Right here, right now,’ Connor says, playing up the drama considerably. At this point, it’s fear and rage and despair speaking more than anything. 

‘And if you do, and mom won’t call the police, someone else will. Because there are a number of people who know I’m coming out today, and they know I’m potentially in danger… so if I don’t contact at least one of them, once I’m past airport security, they’ll alert the police. 

‘So yes, I am going to New York tomorrow. Because that’s where I belong, where I can build a future for myself.’ 

A tense ten seconds pass as Cahal McKinley stares into his son’s defiant face. Connor does his best to not shrink under his father’s gaze, to not show any form of weakeness. Internally, he wants to cry, and curl up somewhere warm. He wants Kevin, too, who would comfort and hug him and tell him everything will be alright. 

Externally, he raises his chin to appear strong. 

What he gets is his father stepping back to take a good, long look at Connor. From the slightly tousled mop of red hair down to his bare feet. 

Without any warning, he spits in his son’s face. This time, Connor does flinch. 

‘You sissy. You’re a disgrace for this family.’ 

Much like his mother a few feet away, Connor remains motionless and just stares. He seriously hopes his features are a lot more neutral than herst. 

Secretly, he also wishes his mom would say something, but no such luck. 

‘Go to New York. That’s where people like you belong. Set a foot into this house again and I’ll make you regret it dearly. 

‘If it wasn’t for your mother, I’d throw you out right now. But I know she’d never forgive me. So you have one last night. In your room, because I won’t allow someone like you near anyone in my family. 

‘Is that understood?’ 

No reaction. 

‘Connor James McKinley, have I made myself clear?’ 

‘Fine.’ 

As he leaves the room, Connor looks over his shoulder and straight at his mom. She’s crying, silently, and it breaks his heart that little more. 

‘I’m sorry, mom. I really am. But I couldn’t lie to you any second longer.’

Somehow, Connor manages to hold himself together until he is back in New York, in their little shoebox apartment. Kevin isn’t there when the redhead arrives, so he does what he feels like - he crawls into bed, drawing the duvet up over his head, and hides from the world. 

His head hurts. His heart hurts. Everything hurts so, so bad; he’s never felt this lost or alone or hollow. He can’t even cry. Connor wishes Kevin was here, anyone was here, because he can feel himself slipping into a direction he doesn’t want to think about. 

Maybe you should find a therapist, the little voice in his head whispers. 

And get back on medication, before it all goes horrible again. 

The former District Leader curls up on his side and hugs his knees to his chest. Combined with the warm blanket it’s comforting and warm, and he soon falls into a restless sleep. 

A few hours later Kevin finds him. He only looks at his boyfriend for half a second before crawling into bed next to him and offering a hug. Connor takes him up on it almost immediately and finally, finally allows himself to break down. 

/////////////////////////////

Wenn Connor McKinley is 21 years old he commits one of the worst sins his former Church knows: He sleeps with his boyfriend for the first time. 

They’re also not married - not even engaged - so they break another rule, but Connor doesn’t want to think about Church doctrine right now. 

What, or rather who, he wants to think about is Kevin Price, who’s _abovearoundinside_ him, and who’s kissing Connor just right. Kevin’s hands are on his body, and Connor’s on Kevin’s. They do nowhere near enough to distract from the unfamiliar and slightly painful sensation of Kevin entering him. 

Although it’s a lot better than expected the pain really isn’t all that pleasant, to put it mildly. But everyone said the first time would hurt and be weird, so Connor just takes a deep breath and holds on to Kevin in the hope it’ll get better. Which it does, gradually, although the sensation is still primarily strange. 

Sex is a little weird. 

The closeness, the touching and kissing and being with each other in a completely new, special way, is intoxicating and really, really good. Even if the ‘main event’ is painful and Connor doesn’t really get all the hype from where he is lying splayed on his back. 

But there’s something else, something more to this. Going by the low moans, Kevin is enjoying himself. At some point, as it gradually gets better, Connor finds himself shyly replying in kind. He still doesn’t completely get why everyone is so crazy about sex, but it does feel special and Connor does want Kevin to feel good. 

When Kevin comes he gets louder, and a bit rougher, and then it’s over and they’re lying next to each other . The silence between them is only interrupted by their breath, racing and every so slightly labored, and the sounds of the other man taking care of the condom.

Until Kevin turns his head, prompting his partner to do the same. For a moment they just look at each other, until Kevin breaks the silence. 

‘Was that… good?’ 

It’s so cliché, Connor has to laugh. The question genuinely catches him by surprise. 

For a second, Kevin looks nearly hurt, but then the penny drops and he joins in. He rolls over, pinning the redhead underneath him in the process and leaning in close. Sweaty skin sticks to sweaty skin and Connor thinks it would be disgusting with anyone else. 

But not with Kevin. 

‘Don’t laugh, I know it’s corny,’ the younger man says, sticking his tongue out. Then his tone gets more serious again. 

‘But you know what I mean. Was it, you know, okay for you? I know it hurt at first, you didn’t really hide that as well as you probably thought, but… I mean… you didn’t come, so I worry. Because I want this to be good for both of us.’ 

Instead of answering immediately, Connor cradles Kevin’s cheek and just looks at him. His eyes sparkle, but there are also faint cloud of worry and insecurity marring the blue. 

‘It was… okay. Yeah, it was okay,’ Connor says. He sounds contemplative to his own ears.

Above him, a tilt of Kevin’s head to the side in silent inquiry. The redhead breathes deeply once, twice, to assemble his thoughts. 

‘It’s… I don’t get the hype? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not about you or anything you did,’ he hastens to explain, before doubt can creep up on his boyfriend. 

‘It’s more the general thing. It’s so… weird. It hurt a little… okay, it hurt quite a bit, but, you know, that’s to be expected. And it wasn’t that bad, because you distracted me.

‘But still, it was just strange, and new, and although it got better it was… not that great. You know?’

Connor doesn’t give Kevin a chance to react. He just hides his face in his hands, acommpanied by a little groan. 

‘Oh my gosh, I’m digging a right old hole here, right?’ 

Above him, the blond chuckles. He carefully pries Connor’s hands away, then musses up his partner’s hair a little more. They’re both already rocking bed hair par excellence, so the redhead doesn’t even mind too much. 

‘It’s fine. I get you,’ Kevin says, before flopping down next to him and drawing Connor close. 

‘I just want to know you’re okay, and not… unsatisfied or something. Or in pain! Oh, please don’t say you’re in pain!’ 

‘I’m fine, Kevin, honestly. I’ll be a bit sore tomorrow, I guess, and everything… down there… is uncomfortably wet right now from the lube, but apart…’ 

He can’t even finish his sentence before Kevin is out of the bed. Connor thinks he said something wrong, but a blink later Kevin dashes back into their room, washcloth in hand and triumphant smile on his face. 

Connor is a little mortified, but Kevin cleans him up and then tosses the cloth into the vague direction of the door. All McKinley does is dignify it with a grumble. He doesn’t feel like arguing. He’s too warm to argue. 

‘Don’t complain, Connor, you could’ve gotten up yourself.’ 

‘Yeah, but you’re the one feeling bad,’ he shoots back while curling around Kevin. 

‘Although for whichever reason I don’t know. Let’s be honest, there no chance I’m leaving you because our first time of actually going all the way with each other wasn’t quite my cup of tea - or because you’ll be leaving me unable to sit for a day.’

Somehow, even though he didn’t get much out of it, sex made him sleepy. And Kevin is warm and soft next to him, so it’s hard to resist. 

‘Plus, we’ve got so much opportunity to try more.’

‘So you actually want to do it again?’ 

Connor slowly raises his head to look at Kevin, who seems so surprised to hear these words from Connor. 

‘Of course. Although we should probably do some research,’ he says and flops down again. 

‘And try other things in between. Lots of things, actually.’ 

Kevin’s responding chuckle rocks both their bodies, but then Kevin slings his arms around Connor and no further words are needed. 

A few weeks later, their second time is a lot better. Especially when Kevin hits _that_ spot. 

/////////////////////////////

When Connor McKinley is 25, he takes his first bow on a Broadway stage, and he absolutely, definitely, cannot believe this is happening. 

He never thought he’d make it, at least not this soon. And, to be fair, he’s probably got a long way to go to become a name, but he’s here. On Broadway. In a leading role, taking his opening night bows, and it’s glorious. 

According to the stage crew, they got pretty much an unanimous standing ovation as soon as the lights blacked out. It sounds so unbelievable, but Connor still sucks it up. The happiness pulsing through his veins makes him ecstatic and giddy. The redhead is so overwhelmed he feels himself oscillating between grinning and near tears in a never-ending wave. 

When he runs out on stage, hand in hand with his co-star, the applause hit them like a wall. They bow, giggling like school boys, and bow again. And again. 

Every time they rise, Connor can see Kevin and Eimhear among the crowd. He managed to get them house seats for the night, and throughout the show spotted them ever so often. 

He saw them cry during Role of a Lifetime, and during ‘See Me’, which still hits a tad too close to home. Still, Connor is proud, even if his eyes are maybe a little red-rimmed. 

Connor also thinks he sees another familiar face in the half-dark, but it’s gone too quick for him to really make out who it is. 

When the curtain falls a last time the entire company takes a picture together, sweaty but happy. Someone from Stage Management magics up a polaroid camera, so they snap a pic for every member of the cast. 

There is so much to do that, once Connor finally makes it to his dressing room to change, his guests of honor are already waiting. 

‘I am _so_ proud of you,’ Kevin says. The redhead doesn’t get a chance to reply, because there are lips on his and yep, a kiss is a good idea. A very good idea. He melts into it, deepending the kiss. 

Only Eimhear distinctly clearing her throat makes them separate. Connor sheepishly looks at her but soon finds himself wrapped in a warm embrace. 

‘On the danger of repeating my brother-in-law… I am so, so proud of you,’ she says. 

‘You were spectacular.’

‘Thank you.’ 

He abandones anything more he wanted to say in favor of something on his dressing table. Another gift, and one that hadn’t been there before the interval. 

The other two follow Connor’s sight lines, and Eimhear gives him a little nudge. 

‘Come on, then. Open it. Allow yourself to feel like a star… and in a few days or weeks, you probably will be.’ 

Her little brother scoffs, but still does as told. Kevin perches on the small side table next to him and a minute later pats his thigh in invitation. The eldest McKinley happily takes him up on the offer, their eyes glued to Connor. 

It’s a nice little gift bag. Pink and sparkly, so most likely from someone he knows. The weight doesn’t give much away, so Connor curiously peeks in.

Inside, he finds an assortment of all his favorite things. Throat coat tea. A berry-colored Leuchtturm notebook with a little note stuck to it - ‘for inspiration, dreams, or times when you need to vent’. His favorite chocolate, twice. A set of black sharpies and silver and golden gel pins, with another note declaring them to be for autographs. Altoids. New taps. 

Once he has emptied everything, Connor finds one last surprise: a card. 

As he flips it open, he feels his heart drop in his chest. He has to swallow against the sudden forming lump in his throat and take a deep breath to will down the tears. 

Yet as he reads, Connor can’t quite reign himself in. 

‘Are you okay?’ 

Kevin sounds so worried, while Eimhear just looks alert and curious. 

Connor nods, fanning himself with his hands. 

‘It’s… from my mom.’ 

His older sister’s gasp is nearly comical.

‘What does she write??’ 

She tries to nick the card, but the redhead draws back. With a shuddering breath, he begins to read. 

‘My dearest Connor, 

‘Congratulations on your opening night. Despite everything that happened, I want you to know how proud I am of you tonight,’ he has to pause for a second to compose himself. 

’To this day, it haunts me how you spent your last day at home. You were always such a strong-willed, idealistic, wonderful child; to see you broken like you were broke my heart. 

‘But this isn’t about me, this is about you. I feel honored to have witnessed your first Broadway opening. 

‘I know you might not want to read this, and that’s okay. Your dad and me did you wrong, but only one of us is able to accept that. Whenever I look at your sisters under the Christmas tree, I miss you sitting among them; braiding someone’s hair, or tickling them, or teaching them dance tricks. Remember that time you set the advent wreath on fire? 

‘But seeing you tonight, up on that stage… Tonight you proved you grew wings, despite all we did to you, and now you’re ready to soar. 

‘I am so very proud of calling you my child. And I am sorry for all we did to you; I understand if you don’t want to hear anything from me, although your Christmas cards suggest otherwise. 

‘But maybe that is just you - thoughtful and sweet, as you’ve always been. I sure hope that boyfriend’ - this one is crossed out - ‘that husband of yours treats you well. 

‘And I hope one day, you will be able to forgive me.’

Stunned silence reigns, until Connor looks at his sister. 

‘Mom was here, wasn’t she?’ 

Eimhear just nods, slowly. As if on cue Kevin reaches out, resting his hand on Connor’s knee to comfort him. 

‘Yeah. And it was me who organized for the gift to arrive up here after the show. I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I’m sorry if this hurt you, Con.’

Instead of answering, Connor turns towards the mirror and begins to take out his hair mic. Unprompted, Kevin nudges Eimhear to allow him to get up and peel off the mic tape on Connor’s neck. 

The dancer could reach himself, true, but somehow it’s an intimate thing to do. When he’s done, Kevin leans down and slings his arms around Connor, their eyes meeting in the brightly lit mirror. 

‘Are you okay?’ 

The redhead shrugs, before hesitantly nodding. 

‘Yeah… yeah, I think I am, actually.’ 

Then he turns to Eimhear once more. 

‘Can I get your phone? I… want to message her, I guess, but I’m not comfortable with giving her my number.’ 

With a silent nod and an encouraging smile she hands it over, unlocked and ready to go. The first thing Connor does, much to Kevin’s confusion, is open the camera. 

‘I’ll send her a picture of us,’ the redhead says, matter-of-factly. 

‘She’ll better get used to seeing you, because gosh knows I’ll need some time before I actually want to speak to her, but she’d better use it to get her head around the fact that I have a husband.’ 

It’s a sweet picture, Kevin has to say; they do look very happy, even if there’s no masking the fact that Connor cried just now. 

Glancing over Connor’s shoulder, he can also read the message. Connor knows Kevin can, and he doesn’t make an effort to hide it; it’s not just about him, anymore, but about both of them. 

’Thank you for your opening night gift,’ he types with shaking fingers. 

‘I’ll need some time… possibly a lot of time, really, to know what I want to do, and if I want to see you, but in the meantime you should get used to seeing my husband. If you’re serious about re-building bridges, you’ll see a lot more of him.’ 

Kevin kisses his cheek, proudly, but remains frozen when Connor continues typing. Then, he laughs. 

‘Don’t bother telling the girls, by the way,’ Connor sends. 

‘They’ve known him for years. Just ask Maisie where that Tiffany bracelet she got for her graduation is from.’

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow this feels very different from my usual writing style. I'm not sure if I'm 100% satisfied with the result, but it has been in the works for what feels like ages.
> 
> As per usual, I hope you enjoyed it; if you did, I always appreciate kudos or, if you have spoons/a lot of time, comments. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! :)


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